Read Online Reel Stuff by Don Bruns - Free Book Online

know?”
    â€œPeople seem pretty sure, partner.”
    I just shook my head. If Londell was high on something and sailed off that scaffolding assuming he could fly, then the murder theory flew away with him. We were desperate for facts, but instead, were ingesting rumors and half-truths. None of it was helping us get any further with the case.
    â€œEm’s working the other end, right?” James asked.
    She was. We’d made a decision that since James and I were being paid by the Anders organization as security, we couldn’t let him know we were moonlighting on his set. It was almost like double-dipping, trying to prove Jason Londell’s death was not suicide. So Em was going to interview Clint Anders tonight. Emwasn’t on anyone’s payroll so she was safe. She’d tell him she was a part-time investigator and ask him about his relationship with Londell. From what we could find on the Internet and through conversation with some of the crew, Anders and Londell were good friends and had worked a number of projects on the West Coast. We assumed he knew Londell’s wife, Juliana, and Em was going to go for details on her. She’d get what she could and report back to us. She was also going to see how a cameraman that no one seemed to know had access to a CA credit card.
    Behind us, about twenty yards, bright lights beamed through the dark of night, and extras in formal suits, black tuxedos, and brightly colored ball gowns were walking down a staged white staircase that pretended to empty into a fancy outdoor cocktail party, complete with champagne glasses, a full-service bar, and white-jacketed waiters offering hors d’oeuvres. It was the kind of party that James, with his culinary degree, would probably want to cater.
    â€œAction,” I heard Randy Roberts shout through his bullhorn as the scene began. “Slower. Take your time, stretch it.”
    I could see him in his canvas director’s chair, holding his signature aluminum coffee mug and I was half tempted to ask him if I could have a sip of whatever he was mixing in there, but security can’t drink on the job. Apparently, a director can and did drink all day long.
    After several retakes he yelled, “Cut,” and things came to a halt.
    When the lights were switched off, James and I took our scheduled break as Roberts shouted, “Fifteen minutes, people.”
    â€œHey, pard, there’s Chad. Let me grab him for a brief chat.”
    A minute later the tall, lanky black man walked over and shook my hand. He was fairly young, but was going bald and compensated with a mustache and goatee.
    Chad Rich had been a grip for ten years. He’d started workingin Hollywood on the TV show
Vegas
. He told me it wasn’t that easy to get work in this business.
    â€œMan, we’re scrambling for jobs. Always. You find a good vehicle, you stick with it. Reality shows are sucking up the money. If it’s not a reality show, it’s sports networks and movie networks. Shows like
Deadline Miami
are scarce, man, and I am lucky to be where I am.”
    Chad Rich, James, and I were sitting at a picnic table outside a long gunmetal gray trailer. This trailer housed five members of the crew. I don’t know how long it was, but it contained five small housing units lined up next to each other. They were for the grips, scenery, prop, camera people. The actors had a bigger trailer, and the four stars of the show had monster trailers all to themselves. Of course, James and I had a rundown Airstream that had seen much better days. The pecking order was everything.
    Everyone except for a couple of security guys was on this short break, and I was enjoying the cool evening breeze and the laid-back Miami park atmosphere. The grassy area was on the water, and I could smell the salty air and the odor of iodine and rotting seaweed. Not that unpleasant, but I guess you would have to be here and breathe it in yourself to